


Find A Way Forward

by withcoffeespoons



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Missing Scene, Trans Inquisitor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 13:53:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4394423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withcoffeespoons/pseuds/withcoffeespoons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisition could use a martyr.</p>
<p>Curtis Lavellan had been a mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find A Way Forward

Curtis was dead.

The pain had stopped. The fear was gone. There was only the absence left.

It could be like he’d never existed at all.

He’d begun as a fiction, after all. _Curtis Thelhen_ , a borrowed identity and a clever name cobbled together in the home of his Keeper. The Conclave had held the promise of change, not just for Thedas, but for Curtis, too, eager to wear a new life, to leave the mantle of the Keeper’s First behind and step into this invented City Elf.

His survival had been, in a way, a new, if accidental, birth. It was only when he was found, disoriented and lost in the rubble of the Temple of Sacred Ashes that Curtis had tripped over his own thoughts, the false name imposed alongside the name of his clan.

Curtis Lavellan was an accident, a mistake. He knew this from the moment he came to be. The mark—the Anchor, the Inquisition, all of it, down to his very name, had stumbled into shaky existence over the last few months.

And now, all of it was undone. Curtis Lavellan was dead—

—or, no, not dead. He was thinking far too much to be dead.

There had been fire. So much destruction, so much death. _Haven_. Snow—the avalanche. _Corypheus_.

Creators, his head hurt.

— _Pain_!

Never would he have expected to be so relieved to feel the ache of the stunning blow to his head, the throbbing of _something_ in his leg. When he took in a breath, something seemed to shake loose in his chest.

But oh, by the Creators, he was alive.

The ground was cold, but the effort of clambering to his feet left him winded, puffs of air grazing the edges of his vision. He reached for the back of his head, and was unsurprised to find the rough clot of blood scraggly in his hair.

He stumbled over his feet as he tilted his head up, the roof of the cavern obstructed, snow sifting down into the tunnel beneath what once was Haven. There was no way out but through.

One foot in front of the other. he slowly moved forward. It was all he could do.

His knees gave out from under him as he surfaced, the snow stretching on as far as the eye could see. There was no more Haven. No more refuge. The plan had worked; Curtis knew what he had been agreeing to, but he hadn’t considered what it meant.

Everything was going to change. It already had.

Corypheus wanted him dead. Wanted the world. Wanted things Curtis could not comprehend. He had already caused the death of many at Haven. Adan...Minaeve...others Curtis never had the chance to learn by name—who he never would.

And how could he know the others were still alive? That they made it past the avalanche? That they survived Corypheus? How could he believe it was possible?

The only way, he thought, dragging himself to his feet, was to see it with his own eyes. Or, he considered, limping, he would die trying.

The wind moved against him, sour and biting, as he stumbled through the inexorable stretch of landscape before him. Blindly, he staggered into the trees, willing them to withstand the new weight that chained him as he leaned on their straining branches.

The night was endless, and the snow stretched on, revealing no secrets, no stories but for the abandoned camp fires and Curtis’ own blurred footprints behind him.

He shivered against the wind, his face and feet numb from the cold. His entire body shook, almost as hard as he had standing before Corypheus, knees weak, desperate and flailing for opportunity, for time. All he’d wanted was the chance, not for himself, but for the Inquisition, for his friends to get to safety.

Cullen’s hesitation lingered with him, the soft concern in his eyes that Curtis couldn’t ease, even if he knew how. Surely he understood—

Of course, now, all Curtis wanted was the promise that his actions had been successful, that he might see them again. That he might have a chance to take Bull up on that offer of drinks, after all.

He might as well have wanted lasting peace in Thedas.

Certain that it was all over, that the night would claim him and bury him in the snow, Curtis fell to his knees, snow burning his skin with its cold. He sat there, knee-deep in powder, the wind whipping his face. Perhaps this was it; perhaps it was all it needed to be. The flare had told him they were safe, that he had bought them the time they needed. The Inquisition could use a martyr.

Curtis Lavellan had been a mistake.

And then he heard Cullen’s voice, calling out for him.


End file.
